From the Stars
by KrissyKat91
Summary: Instead of Smallville, Kansas, Kal-El's escape rocket lands in a little Nevada town called Tranquility.
1. A World Undone

KrissyKat91: For those of you who don't bother reading the author bios (I know I rarely do), this is a warning: I'm a crossover fanatic. I have forty-one stories on my laptop (finished and unfinished), and twenty-two of them are crossovers. I am of the opinion that almost anything can be crossed with anything else as long as one has the proper amount of the three i's of authorship: imagination, inspiration, and insanity.

IknowIknowIknow I need to finish Prime Awakening, but I really want to post this.

* * *

Ch. 1: A World Undone

_Krypton, 1983 by Earth's calendar_

_Krypton City_

Jor-El sighed as he walked through the sliding door of his home, located on the outskirts of Krypton City.

Today had been a waste of precious time. Not only had the Grand Council laughed at his findings, they'd actually had the gall to have him forcibly removed from the Hall, presumably for disrupting the peace.

_Disrupting the peace, my eye,_ he thought bitterly. _Disrupting their meaningless debates is more like it._

"Lara?" he called as he stepped into the living room. "Are you here?"

"Coming, Jor!" his wife yelled from somewhere in the back of the house. A moment later she came into the room, a sleeping baby cradled in her arms.

Jor-El's heart clenched painfully at the sight of his son. Little Kal-El wasn't even a year old. The thought that he might not live to grow up was unbearable.

Seeing the look on her husbands face, Lara frowned. "I take it the visit to the Council Hall didn't go like you wanted?"

"They're a bunch of vain, hardheaded cowards, the whole lot of them," he growled, taking Kal-El from her.

"We'll make them see reason. We'll run some more tests. Maybe that will—"

"There's no time for more tests, Lara," Jor-El said softly.

"...How long?"

"Days. Hours, perhaps." He studied his son for a moment, then added, "Do you remember what I told you we'd do if—if worst came to worst?"

The color drained from Lara's face. _"No!"_ she gasped.

"We have no choice, Lara. Not if we want any kind of a future for Kal."

Lara nodded, looking miserable.

"I'll go prep the rocket," he said, handing Kal-El back to her. "You need to sedate him, so he won't wake up on the trip."

"Okay," she whimpered.

As Jor-El took the lift to his underground lab, he heard Lara start to cry. The sound broke his heart.

A few minutes later, as he was putting some data crystals into a special compartment in the escape rocket, Lara came into the lab.

Kal-El was still sleeping in her arms, but now it was the sleep of the heavily sedated. Lara had wrapped him in the blanket her mother had given them the day Kal-El was born, the one with the El family crest on it.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I'll never be ready," she sighed, then asked, "Are we sending him to Cybertron? Optimus always said he'd be glad to take him."

Jor-El made a face. "Optimus meant for a short visit when he's much older. Besides, I can't even _stomach_ the thought of sending Kal into that war zone. No, we're sending him to a planet the inhabitants simply call Earth."

"Will he survive there, Jor?"

"Survive there? He'll _thrive_ there! The planet's very environment will be his armor! Earth has a _yellow_ sun, Lara! _Yellow_ radiation! He'll be able to do things no one else can do!

"He'll be able to see through solid objects, burn things just by looking at them, lift more than any other man! He'll be able to run faster, jump higher, see farther, and hear better than anyone else can! _Nothing_ will be able to hurt him! He'll be able to _fly!_ He will be that world's Man of Tomorrow!"

"That sounds wonderful, Jor," Lara interrupted, "but it won't matter if we don't get him going!"

"R-right, o-of course," Jor-El stammered. Taking Kal-El from her again, he handed her a data crystal. "Send this to Optimus, please. I don't want him thinking the Decepticons had anything to do this."

After sending the message, Lara joined Jor-El at the rocket's control panel.

"Are we really doing the right thing, Jor?" she asked.

"We have no choice, Lara. We have no choice."

"How far away is Earth?"

"...Far. Very far."

As the engines on the rocket fired up, the ground beneath them started to shake.

"Another one?" Lara asked.

Face white, Jor-El slapped the button that sent Kal-El's rocket into the air.

Wrapping his arms around Lara, he whispered, "No. The last one."

And as Kal-El's rocket broke through the atmosphere and shot off through a wormhole, Krypton exploded.

* * *

_Cybertron, 1983_

_Iacon_

Optimus Prime looked up from his datawork when his personal computer beeped, optics flickering in confusion.

_Odd,_ he thought. _I wasn't expecting any messages._

Accepting the message, Optimus was pleasantly surprised to find that it was from his old friend, Jor-El of Krypton. As he scrolled through it, however, his pleasure turned to disbelief, then horror, and finally grief.

The message read:

** Dear Optimus,**

** By the time you receive this, Krypton will be gone. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, and in retrospect, the Council _might_ have listened to you when they wouldn't listen to me. They say hindsight is 20/20.**

** Anyway, I wanted you to know that the Decepticons are not to blame for this. Krypton's core has been unstable for years, and the planet just couldn't handle it anymore.**

** But it's not the end of Krypton! I have sent my infant son, Kal-El, to a planet on the far side of the galaxy, a planet the natives simply call Earth.**

** With him I sent a data crystal containing all the knowledge of our world, as well as one with some personal messages, so he will always know who he is, and the legacy he holds within him as my son, the Last Son of Krypton.**

** Farewell, old friend. May you win your war with as few casualties as possible.**

** Your Friend,**

** Jor-El, son of Lan-El and Nira, born of the House of Mu into the House of El**

* * *

_Earth, 1988_

_Tranquility, Nevada_

Ron and Judy Witwicky were driving home from Mission City Memorial Hospital when it happened.

They had been trying to have children for some time now, and had finally gone to a doctor to find out why it wasn't working. The man had tried to be nice about it, but there was no nice way of saying barren. The Witwicky's were understandably upset, so the mood in the truck was quiet and subdued. All that changed when they were nearly run off the road by a small rocket.

"HANG ON, JUDY!" Ron shouted as he tried to get the truck back under control. The vehicle twisted and turned until it was finally stopped by a conveniently placed tree.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked his wife after he'd gotten his breath back.

"I think so. What was that thing?"

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out. Stay here."

Judy's eyes narrowed. "Not on your life, buster! I'm going with you!"

"Fine, but stay close."

Getting out of the truck, they made their way towards the impact trench the strange craft had made.

Climbing over a small hill, the Witwicky's were surprised to find, not the crash site they were expecting, but a small ship floating placidly in a pond, almost as if it were waiting for them.

"Maybe we should call the police, Judy. Judy? Judy! What are you doing?! Come back here!"

Judy had broken away from him and was making her way over to the ship, feet sloshing in the shallow water. Reaching for what looked like a lock, she jerked her hand back when the opaque hatch opened at her touch.

Peering inside, her face lit up in joy. Reaching in, she pulled out a small, crying bundle, holding it as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.

"Judy, are you crazy?" Ron hissed as she came back. "We don't know where it came from!"

"He's not an it, Ron. He's a baby. A little baby. Who'd put a baby in a spaceship?"

"That's just it. He could be Russian, a Sputnik baby."

"Oh, Ron, really!"

He shrugged. "Maybe he's one of ours. You think NASA's missing a kid?"

"I don't _care_ where he came from. All I know is he needs us. Look at how he's reaching out to you."

Ron looked down at the now giggling infant and couldn't help but smile. "Cute little guy," he muttered, letting the tiny fingers curl around one of his. "Got a good grip, too. Ow."

The bones in his finger suddenly crackled. "OW!" he yelped, jerking his hand free.

"What do you think of the name Samuel?" Judy asked as she walked back to the truck.

"Now, Judy, let's discuss this."

"Or how about John?"

"Judy."

"I know. We'll use my maiden name as a first name, and your father's name as a middle name." Smiling down at the baby, she said, "Clark Kent Witwicky."


	2. Returning Home

KrissyKat91: Next chapter. Slightly shorter.

Ch. 2: Returning Home

_Earth, 2009, twenty-one years later_

_Tranquility, Nevada_

Clark Kent Witwicky took a deep breath as he stepped off the bus, hauling a large suitcase behind him.

It had been five years since his parents had told him the truth about how they'd found him; five years since he'd found the crystals which had led him to the Arctic, where they'd built a massive crystalline fort aptly named the Fortress of Solitude.

During his time at the Fortress, he'd learned more than he'd ever thought he would about his home world, the world he lived in now, and himself.

Thanks to the messages left by his biological father, Jor-El, he'd had no trouble in finding the extent of his emerging abilities, although he was still unsure of the limits on the amount of power he had.

But all that was in the past for now, and while he still intended to use the Fortress if the need arose, he was more than ready to go home.

Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, Clark hefted his suitcase onto his shoulder, crouched, then shot into the air faster than the human eye could follow.

Rising until he was sure no one could spot him, he glided until he was over his parents' house, then plummeted down almost as fast as he'd gone up.

* * *

In the Witwicky's garage, Ron Witwicky was attempting to change a flat tire without the jack, which had broken. He was just about to give it up as a bad job when a pair of hands effortlessly lifted the truck off the ground.

"Let me give you a hand with that, Dad," a familiar voice said.

A massive grin crossing his face, Ron gladly let his son change the flat. When he was done, Ron gave him a hearty slap on the back.

"Good to see you, Clark. Real good. Let's go surprise your mother."

* * *

Going into the house, Ron hollered, "Judy! Come see who I just found!"

Coming out of the kitchen, Judy Witwicky's eyes lit up when she saw Clark. "It's about time you came home," she admonished gently, hugging him. "Did you find anything out?"

_Did I ever. Like where I got my tendency to ramble when I get excited about something._ Aloud he said, "You bet. You wouldn't believe what Krypton was like!"

"'Krypton'?"

"My home planet. It was one of the most scientifically advanced societies in the galaxy."

"Why do you say 'was', son?" Ron asked.

Clark's expression fell. "It's gone. It exploded."

"Oh, honey," Judy said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. At least now I know why my birth parents gave me up. They did it to save me."

Giving himself a shake, Clark added, "Well, enough of that. I've been gone a long time, Mom, and I could really use one of your homemade pies."

She beamed at him. "Apple, blueberry, cherry, or blackberry?"

"Apple!" both men shouted.

* * *

Later, after polishing off the pie, Clark sprung his idea on his parents.

"Mom, Dad? Remember when I told you I wanted to use my powers to help people, but couldn't because I'd never have a normal life?

Ron and Judy glanced at each other and nodded.

"Well, I think I've found a way around that."

Standing up, Clark started to spin until he was just a blur of colors. When he stopped, he was wearing a skintight blue bodysuit that clearly defined his impressive muscles, a red cape, red boots, and what looked for all the world like a pair of red briefs with a yellow belt.

"C-Clark?" Ron squawked. "What are you—Is that _underwear?!"_

Poor Clark's face turned five different shades of scarlet. _"No,_ this is _not_ underwear! This is based on the uniform of the Kryptonian Elite Guard!" He grinned sheepishly. "I figured if I wore this, no one would recognize me."

Ron frowned. "I don't know about this. What do you think, Judy?"

"It needs something."

"Huh?"

"Right there," she said, tapping Clark on the chest. "It needs something right there." She thought for a minute, then her face lit up. "I've got it!"

Judy rushed out of the room, only to return a moment later with a red-and-blue bundle in her hands.

"This is the baby blanket we found you in," she told Clark, then shoved the blanket into Ron's hands.

"Hold this," she ordered.

The blanket unrolled, revealing itself to be blue with red trim. And right smack in the middle was a red, stylized "S" set in a red diamond on a yellow background.

"This," Judy said, pointing to the "S," "looks like some kind of iron-on. Think you can get it off?"

"Sure." Firing up his heat vision, Clark carefully heated the iron-on until it started to peel off.

"Okay, I think that's enough," Judy said. Grabbing the edges of the "S," she gently pulled it off. Turning, she centered it on the chest of Clark's costume, then pressed it on.

"There," she said, stepping back. "That does it."

"Judy, you're not really letting him do this, are you?"

"And why not? Clark's a grown man, Ron. He can make his own choices."

"But what if someone recognizes him?"

Clark smiled. "Do you remember what I was like before I left, Dad? I was skinny, clumsy, and had the social skills of a brick. I doubt anyone will recognize me now."

"...Point taken," Ron finally said. He suddenly grinned. "I'll tell you one thing, though. With a costume like that on, no one will be looking at your face."

"Dad!"

"Well they don't call 'em tights for nothing!"


	3. New Wheels

KrissyKat91: I almost forgot this: I don't own Superman. Or Transformers. Although I'd really love to own Bumblebee. He is so stinkin' cute.

* * *

Ch. 3: New Wheels

_Earth, 2009_

_Tranquility, Nevada_

"This really isn't necessary, you know," Clark commented from the front seat of his dad's truck. "I can be in China in a few minutes. I don't need a car."

"Nonsense," Ron said. "You want to live a normal life, you've got to have wheels."

"If you say so. Where are we going, anyway?"

His question was answered by a sign that read, "Bolivia's Auto Resale."

"_...Please_ tell me you're joking."

"No sacrifice, no victory. This is as good as my paycheck can afford."

"Alright," Clark sighed. "It's not like I'll be using it much."

As Ron parked and exited the truck, a shifty-looking man in a shiny blue suit strode out of the used-car lot's office.

"Hello, there," he said, extending his hand. "Bobby Bolivia, at your service. What can I do you for?"

"My son just came home from a long studying trip and needs a car," Ron explained, making use of the excuse the three of them had cooked up for Clark's absence.

Bobby grinned. "Don't you worry. I've been doing this for a long time, and—" he stopped, eyes wide, as Clark got out of the truck.

Clark, hearing the salesman's heartbeat speed up, fought back a grin. Amusing though it was, he understood the reason behind the older man's reaction.

During his time at the Fortress, the young Kryptonian had grown huge, in terms of both size _and_ power. He was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, wavy black hair, and piercing, electric blue eyes. The whole picture was quite intimidating.

_I'll have to do something about my appearance at some point,_ he thought._ Can't have everyone reacting this way._

Flashing Bobby a charming smile, he thrust out his hand. "Hi. I'm Clark Witwicky."

"Bobby Bolivia," the other man said in a somewhat shaky tone.

"So, you think you have a car for me?"

Bobby relaxed a little. "Sure do. Like I was about to tell your pa, the drivers don't pick the car. No sir, cars pick their drivers. It's a mystical bond between man and machine."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Right. Well, let's see what calls out to me."

As the three men walked up and down the rows of cars, Clark felt his hopes of finding something decent fading fast. Each car was uglier and more beat up than the last.

Turning to go down another row, he paused. Sitting in front of him was a filthy yellow 1975 Chevrolet Camaro, accented by black racing stripes.

_At least this one's not a minivan,_ he thought, running a hand over the hood.

Behind him, Bobby made a strange sound. "Where'd this thing come from?" he squawked. Turning to his ramshackle office, he hollered, "Manny! Where'd this car come from?"

Opening the Camaro's door, Clark slid into the driver's seat. He surveyed the dash, taking note of the miraculously operational eight-track player, then saw the strange symbol emblazoned on the steering wheel. It looked kind of like a face.

Frowning slightly, trying to remember where he'd seen the symbol before, the young Kryptonian brushed his fingers over the symbol. Then he heard it: a faint pulsing sound, coming from somewhere inside the car.

Closing his eyes, Clark carefully tuned out the sounds of Bobby yelling vehemently at his assistant, and of his dad busting a gut at the bewildered expression on the young man's face.

The pulse sounded like it was coming from the engine.

Opening his eyes again, he glanced at the other men, then focused on the front of the car. His electric blue eyes turned sky blue, and the Camaro's hood seemed to dissolve, revealing a normal looking engine: normal, that is, except for a small metal box fused seamlessly to the back, hidden from prying eyes.

Eyes narrowing, Clark looked a little harder, then grimaced, blinking. There was a sphere of blue light in that box, painfully bright even to one who could stare at the sun for hours without flinching.

_I'd better buy this car,_ he thought. _If it's dangerous, it'll be better off in my hands than someone else's. And if it's not, hey, it's a classic._

"How much for this one?" he asked, cutting off the argument going on outside.

"Well, considering nobody knows how it _got_ here," Bobby said, glaring at his assistant, "I'll let you have it for, say, three grand."

"That seems fair," Ron commented.

"Right, then." Bobby smiled. "Step into my office."

"Said the spider to the fly," the assistant muttered sourly.

Clark smirked, then paused, staring at the Camaro. For a split second, he'd heard something that sounded suspiciously like a barely stifled snort of laughter.


	4. Meeting

KrissyKat91: New chapter!

* * *

Ch. 4: Meeting

_Earth, 2009_

_Tranquility, Nevada_

Clark carefully guided his new**/**old car up the driveway of his parents' house. He would, eventually, get a place of his own, but this would do for now.

"Well, Chevy," he said, smiling, "welcome to your new home, at least until I get a job. It's not the Ritz, but it's pretty sweet just the same."

The car's engine rumbled slightly. Had Clark been human, he wouldn't have heard it. But he wasn't, so he did.

Patting the steering wheel, he got out and walked into the garage, only to come back a moment later with a large bundle of old rags and a bucket of soapy water.

"Let's get that dirt off, shall we?"

As Clark began to wash his car, he was amazed to find that it was just dusty. The dirt came right off. In a few moments, the Camaro was was spotless.

Stepping back, Clark whistled. "Better," he said. "Much better." With that, he turned and walked into the house.

* * *

Later, long after Clark's required two hours of sleep, his hypersensitive ears picked up the sound of his car's engine starting.

_What on Earth?_ he thought, putting down the copy of C. S. Lewis' _Malacandra_ he'd been reading and going to the window. Looking out, the Kryptonian saw his blindingly bright, stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb yellow Camaro driving down the road _with no one in it!_

Clark blinked, then frowned. Getting dressed in exactly 3.5 seconds, he opened the window and flew after the car.

Making sure to fly below the radar of any passing plane, he followed it to an abandoned parking lot just outside of town. There it stopped.

Landing on the roof of a nearby building, Clark watched, confused. Having already known something was off about the Camaro, it hadn't surprised him all _that_ much when it drove away.

What had him lost was the fact that it had gone to a place where no one could get to it. The lot only had one entrance, which barely had enough room for a car as small as the Camaro to pass through, let alone anything else (hence its abandonment).

Then all those thoughts were driven from his mind as the car, for lack of a better term, stood up.

Stunned, Clark stared at the mechanoid that had once been his car. He'd seen beings like it in the data crystals Jor-El had sent with him. Cybertronians, they were called. But what was one doing on a planet directly across the galaxy from Cybertron?

And was it an Autobot, or a Decepticon?

Electric blue eyes narrowing, Krypton's Last Son lifted off the building. An instant later he was hovering in front of the startled Cybertronian.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" he demanded.

The mech ("robot" being an offensive slang word to these people) blinked rapidly at him, and Clark noticed that its—no, _his_ optics were a bright, powder blue.

"I didn't know humans could fly," the mech said after a moment of blank staring.

Dishonesty had never been something Clark was very good at. "They can't. I'm Kal-El of Krypton."

The mech's already wide optics grew even wider. "You're Kal-El?!" he repeated incredulously.

"Yes," the young Kryptonian said warily. "You've heard of me?"

But the Autobot—he could see the scarlet crest now—was no longer listening. He had turned and was broadcasting something into the sky.

Having never thought he'd need to use it, Clark hadn't memorized much of the Cybertronian language, but he thought he could pick out the words "Krypton", "Kal-El", and "Optimus Prime".

The Last Son of Krypton new who Optimus Prime was—Jor-El had made sure of that—and he felt flattered to know he was being mentioned to one who was possibly the greatest hero in the galaxy. He wondered how the Autobot Supreme Commander was reacting to this.

* * *

Far away, on the other side of town, a blue Peterbilt semi, accented by red flames, suddenly jerked wildly, nearly driving off the road before it regained control.

"Wha' happened, Prime?" a silver Pontiac Solstice in the lane next to it asked.

For a moment there was no answer, then a deep, rumbling voice replied, in a stunned tone, "He's here. Kal-El of Krypton is here. He's been here all this time."

* * *

"So," Clark said, trying to make conversation, "you know my name. What's yours?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry. My name's Bumblebee."

Clark nodded, then looked up as the unique sound of transformation filled the night air.

A moment later three large mechs (colored red-and-blue, black, and a rather obnoxious shade of chartreuse) and a silver mech about Bumblebee's size stepped into the lot.

Though three of the mechs were unknown to him, Clark recognized Optimus Prime from Jor-El's descriptions, and hurried to lift himself to the Autobot Supreme Commander's optic level.

"Greetings, Optimus Prime," he said, calling on his lessons in Kryptonian etiquette. "I am Kal-El, son of Jor-El and Lara, born of the House of Van into the House of El."

Behind Optimus, the black mech's optics widened. "A formal Kryptonian greetin'. Ah never thought Ah'd hear one agin'."

Ignoring him, Optimus nodded. "Greetings, Kal-El. It is a pleasure to finally meet the son of a dear friend."

Clark opened his mouth to answer, paused, then smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry. My grasp of Kryptonian etiquette tends to desert me when I'm nervous, so I'm going to go with what I was raised with and say it's nice to meet you, too."

The Supreme Commander of the Autobot army chuckled. "That's quite all right, Kal-El. Though I knew you were somewhere on Earth, I did not expect you to be the Clark Witwicky we were seeking."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "You looking for me? Why?"

Optimus was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "What do you know of the AllSpark?"

Right then and there, Clark knew his admittedly strange life was about to get _much_ stranger.


	5. Sector Seven

KrissyKat91: I lost patience with this thing, so it's a little shorter than I planned.

* * *

Ch. 5: Sector Seven

_Earth, 2009_

_Tranquility, Nevada_

"I can't believe the map to the AllSpark is on Great-grampa Archibald's _glasses,"_ Clark commented to Bumblebee as they pulled into the driveway a few hours later.

"Believe it, Clark. We need to get those glasses before the Decepticons do."

"We put them in the attic with the rest of his stuff after he died. It shouldn't take me too long to find them."

"Hurry up!" came a gruff growl from the black GMC Topkick just behind them. "We ain't got all day!"

"Settle down, Ironhide" the chartreuse Search-and-Rescue Hummer snapped. "We'll have 'em soon enough."

"Yeah, cool it, 'Hide," the silver Pontiac Solstice said. "Don' go shootin' off your cannons yet."

"Stuff it, Jazz," Ironhide grumped. "You, too, Ratchet."

"Put it in idle, all of you," the blue-with-red-flames Peterbilt rumbled. "We have no time for this. Kal-El, if you will."

Clark, who had been listening to the exchange in amusement, simply nodded. Turning, he walked into the house.

* * *

"And just where did you disappear to?"

Head snapping up from where he'd been crouched over some boxes in the corner, Clark gulped on seeing his mother standing with crossed arms in the doorway of the attic.

Straightening up, he sighed. "Hoo, boy, where to start? Let's see. I left at two because I heard my new car's engine start, and followed it to a random parking lot where it transformed into a giant alien robot."

Here he paused in his recounting of the nights events long enough to turn towards a window and yell, "No offense meant! It's the only word she'd know!"

He listened for a moment, then, apparently satisfied with whatever he'd heard, continued, "Bumblebee—that's my car's name—called his leader, who's an old friend of my biological father's, to come meet me. Turns out the Autobots—that's what their group is called—are on Earth looking for something called the AllSpark. You with me so far?"

Wide-eyed, Judy nodded.

"Okay. Where was I? Oh, yes, the AllSpark. Jor-El touched on it in his lessons, but didn't say much about it. I don't think he really understood what it was.

"Anyway, the AllSpark is basically what created their race. They need it to rebuild their home world, which was nearly destroyed in a planet-wide civil war that they're _still_ fighting, and get this: the map to the AllSpark's location is on Grampa Archie's glasses."

He paused again, then asked, "Remember that 'Ice Man' thing Grampa was always going on about?"

Again, Judy nodded.

"Turns out, he wasn't crazy." He shook his head. "I wish I could've told him he was right before he died."

As he'd been speaking, Clark had also been systematically scanning the boxes with his X-ray vision. Giving a sudden cry of triumph, he pulled the lid off of one, reached in, and pulled out an old leather case.

"Found 'em!" Slipping the case into a hidden pocket in his jacket's inner lining, he stood and started towards the stairs, then froze.

"Clark?" Judy asked. "What's wrong?"

"Someone's here. Men in black suits. One's telling Dad they're health inspectors, but he's lying. The Autobots have disappeared."

* * *

"The day I believe the load of garbage you just fed me is the day I believe in green men from Mars!" Ron bellowed at the skinny, rat-faced man who had just entered his home, along with a bunch of other suits. "Now get off my property and don't come back unless you have a warrant!"

The MIB sighed. "Sir, I really don't want to have to force the issue, but—"

"Dad?"

Both men turned as Clark and Judy came down the stairs.

"What's going on, Ron?" Judy asked. "Who are these people?"

"They say they're health inspectors." He glared at one of the suits, who was running a strange scanner-looking thing over one of Judy's potted plants. "Dunno what they could be inspecting for."

Clark eyed another suit warily as he approached the young Kryptonian. He didn't like the look of that scanner. It looked way too high-tech for something Earth-made.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to protest as the scanner suddenly began to beep loudly.

"Code blue!" the man shouted. "He's had contact!"

At that, the whole group erupted into movement. Four of the suits grabbed Ron and Judy, one on each side, manhandling them out the door. It took another four to get Clark out the door, and that only because he didn't really want to hurt the men... yet.

A minute later the three Witwickys found themselves bundled into a black SUV and carted away.

Clark just hoped the Autobots wouldn't do anything foolish, like try to rescue him. He'd told them about his abilities on the way home (and almost gave the Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet, a conniption when he tried to explain how his powers worked; apparently organic creatures weren't supposed to be able to absorb solar radiation like that), so surely they would let him get himself and his family out of this mess.

_BOOM!_

...Or not.


End file.
